Rebecca's Reward

by Lauraine Snelling

  The smell of cookies getting too brown jerked her back to the kitchen in Blessing in 1903. “Uff da,” she muttered. She grabbed a towel, drew open the oven door, and tsked, with a shake of her head. They weren’t burned, but Haakan liked his cookies soft, not crisp like this. She set the cookie sheet on the table and, using a pancake turner, lifted the cookies to the wooden racks Thorliff had made for her so many years before, when Onkel Olaf was teaching the boys woodworking in his shop.

  She rolled out the last of the sour cream cookie dough. She should make Haakan really happy by baking molasses cookies too. Little Inga would love to have a gingerbread man or two. She cut the cookies, moved them to the cookie pan, and sprinkled sugar on the tops. Moving the cookie sheet on the bottom rack to the top, she slid the third pan into the oven. Then she took one of the browner cookies and broke it in half. Munching it, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down for just a minute. For some unknown reason, her back ached sometimes now when rolling cookies or pie dough. Haakan said it was just a sign of getting old.

  As if forty-five was old.

  Times like this, letting her mind roam backward was too easy. What a treat it would be to sit here for a bit with Agnes. One didn’t have too many friends like her come into a life. Kaaren was her other good friend, but she was busy with her school, especially the three children who were not adept enough with sign language yet to be sent to the Blessing school.

  “Ingeborg Bjorklund, you will send yourself on a fast trip back to the pit of depression if you keep thinking back like this.” She spoke firmly and forced herself to drink the last of the coffee, brush the cookie crumbs into her hand, and get going again. Sitting here feeling sorry for herself never did any good at all.

  Why was it so easy to slip from rejoicing to fighting tears? Lord, forgive me. I have so much to be grateful for. Just think of all I would have missed out on if I’d never known Agnes. “I will sing praises instead, like David said. And Paul.” She hummed a tune and put her own words to it. “Thank you, Jesus, I love you so,” then segued into the children’s song, “Jesus loves me, this I know.” The cat arched her back, stretching from her nest between the stove and the wall, and wound herself around Ingeborg’s skirts. Just singing the name of Jesus over and over to her tune made her smile. “Jesus, lover of my soul …”

  The thudding of boots on the porch made her look at the window in the back door. Sure enough, Haakan was ready for dinner. And she hadn’t even set the table yet.

  “You sound happy,” he said as he stepped into the warm kitchen. “It smells heavenly in here.”

  “Oh!” She flew to the stove and yanked another fairly brown pan of cookies from the oven. “Whatever is the matter with me today?”

  “Burned?”

  “No. Just crispy brown. The soup is all ready as soon as you wash up.”

  “I sent Lars home a while ago, just in case the weather became worse, but the wind seems to be dying, and the snow is letting up too.”

  She shook her head. “Spring has to be on the way. Maybe the old adage will hold true. In like a lion, out like a lamb.” Just saying the word lamb made her swallow. For the first time since the second year they came to the prairies, they’d not had lambs. No sheep, thanks to the hoof-and-mouth epidemic that swept havoc through the farms. Haakan had asked her if she wanted sheep again, and she’d chosen not to. But this very moment she would give anything to see lambs gamboling beside the ewes, to hear the bleating of the flock that used to winter in the corral and shed off from the barn.

  Haakan dried his hands and took his place at the table, snatching a cookie and winking at her. “I hope you plan to save some of these for Inga, even though you didn’t do raisin smiles.”

  “If Astrid comes home today, she can take some back tomorrow.” Ingeborg dished up a bowl of chicken soup and set it in front of her husband. “Bread coming in a minute.”

  “Is there any of that corn bread left?”

  “You’d rather that than sliced bread?”

  “Please.” He helped himself to another cookie. “I heard some sad news when I was at the post office. You know the Eldersons south of town?”

  “Of course.” She brought the pan of corn bread from the pantry. “What?”

  “The missus had been crying a lot lately, the mister said, and left the house sometime in the night of the blizzard. He found her huddled against the barn two days later.”

  “Frozen to death.” Ingeborg fought the tears that burned her eyes. “One more driven to despair by the wind.”

  “I know. Seems like we hear of at least one every winter.”

  “I should have gone to see her when they weren’t in church lately.”

  “Ja, but not just you. Any of us could have, should have, gone.” Haakan folded his hands, waiting for her to sit. “Come, let’s say grace.”

  Ingeborg set a square of corn bread on his plate and took her seat. Poor Ida. Lord God, take care of her mister.

  “I Jesu navn …”

  She joined her husband in the Norwegian grace, but before saying the amen, he added, “And help poor Ernie as he grieves. This land is a hard taskmaster, so please remind us how to look out for one another. Amen.”

  Ingeborg wiped her nose and eyes with the hankie she always kept in her apron pocket. “I just didn’t realize she was that bad off. We get so caught up in what’s going on… . She should have …” She shook her head. “Maybe if she’d come to quilting … or if someone had gone to get her.”

  “Ernie said he is selling out. He didn’t buy any cows to replace his, and he says he just hasn’t the heart anymore to plant wheat when spring does come. Maybe his son will take over, but you know he went to Grand Forks to work.” Haakan sighed. “I’m thinking we need a town meeting. There might be other people in trouble that we just don’t know about.”

  “Has Rebecca come back yet?”

  “Not that I know. Oh, that’s right, Mrs. Valders said she wrote and is coming on Thursday.”

  “Gus told her that?”

  “No, I think Rebecca wrote it on the back of her envelope.” He rolled his lips together. “Now, don’t go getting all het up. You know Mrs. Valders likes to know what is going on.”

  Ingeborg shook her head and blew on her spoon of soup. “The corn bread is a bit dry. Perhaps it would be good crumbled into the soup.”

  “It is just fine with butter and jam.” He took another bite. “Oh, and Thorliff said to tell you that if your cousins decide to come, he’ll get going on a house for them as soon as the melt comes. He’s thinking of building a couple of houses on that piece on the other side of the tracks. Two of the men working at the flour mill have talked to him about it.”

  “Blessing is growing, that’s for sure. Did you go by the store?”

  “Jeffers didn’t have the thread you wanted.”

  “No white thread?”

  Haakan shook his head. “He’s moved stuff around so it looks like he still has stock, but that store is getting emptier. When I asked him, he said he’d order more thread. Just overlooked it.”

  The two exchanged a look that said concern.

  A gust of wind caught their attention.

  “Another blizzard?”

  “I don’t think so. Just a storm.” Haakan glanced toward the stove. “More soup?”

  “Of course.” Ingeborg took his bowl back for a refill and set it in front of him, laying her hand on his shoulder in passing.

  “Takk.” He ate some more and paused at another gust. “Wish I had a way to tell Andrew to stay home. Lars and I can handle the milking.”

  “I was planning on cleaning out the cheese house this week.”

  “Andrew and I’ll take care of it.” He finished his soup, ate a couple of cookies, and then tipped his head from one side to the other, stretching but wincing at the same time. “Think I’ll use this storm time to sleep awhile.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I will be.” He pushed back his chair and headed
to the bedroom.

  Ingeborg watched him go while she cleared the table. This wasn’t like him at all. Times like this he’d usually spend reading or fixing something, not sleeping. But then, as he’d reminded her, they were getting older, and actually a bit of a lie-down sounded like a very good idea. After she finished the dishes. “Well, Father, should I be concerned about this or just grateful we can rest when the weather is bad?” She glanced at the windows but couldn’t see outside, because it had turned dark, like an early dusk. The ice particles screamed in agony when they struck the glass panes. She should have offered to rub his neck and shoulders. Uff da, how thoughtless.

  With the dishes dried and put away, the cookies stored in the cookie jar, and the table wiped off, she looked longingly toward the bedroom, then headed for her sewing machine instead. She had cut out a spring dress for Astrid, and now was as good a time as any to put it together. Like most winters, she’d moved the sewing machine into the kitchen and hung a blanket over the doorway to the parlor. With the machine cabinet and their two rockers, the kitchen was a bit crowded but cozy.

  After setting the kerosene lamp on the shelf above the machine, she lost herself in the steady thump of the treadle and the beauty and speed of machine-made seams. As the bodice came together, she pressed the seams open with the flatirons she’d set on the stove. Blue dimity sprinkled with white daisies helped her ignore the wind that scolded at the eaves and tried to sneak under the door and around the windows.

  “Lord, I am so ready for spring to come. I’ve no idea why this winter has seemed so long, but I want to be digging in the garden. At least I’ll soon be able to start the seeds here in the house. If anyone came in, they would think I am losing my mind, talking to myself, but I know you listen and that your grace is sufficient for everything. After all, you said so.” She thought of the verses she’d read that morning. She was reading Proverbs for a change. Seeking wisdom. Searching after her, along with insight. “Lord, I so want to be wise, to be filled with your wisdom.” One of her favorite verses reminded her that she had the mind of Christ since she belonged to Him.

  Snipping the threads, she returned to the ironing board, humming as she fetched the flatiron. What was something special she could make for supper? After setting the iron back on the stove and adding wood to the firebox, she went to check on Haakan. He must be really tired to have slept so long. She could hear his slight snore clear from the doorway. Stopping beside him at the bed, she laid the back of her hand against his forehead. He wasn’t running a fever, and he didn’t sound like he was catching a cold.

  She was about to turn away when his eyes fluttered open.

  “Checking on me?”

  “Appears that way.”

  “You worry too much.” He stretched and rolled over to face her. “Feels sinfully comfortable to be safe and warm and ignore that old wind howling outside.”

  “Your neck still hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I could rub it if it does.”

  “Ja, then it hurts. Hurts powerful bad.”

  Ingeborg slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, you.”

  “I’m getting to be just a poor old broken-down man.”

  “Scoot over so I can sit.” With strong fingers she rubbed his shoulders, up along his neck and at the base of his head. His sighs of contentment were all she needed by way of gratitude. “You need a haircut.” She stroked up through the hair that curled over the top of his shirt collar.

  “Hmm. Anytime you want to give me one.”

  Ingeborg continued rubbing his neck and shoulders. Did she dare question him further about how he felt? Every time she mentioned it, he brushed her off, saying she was worrying for nothing. She wasn’t worrying, just concerned. If only she could get him to talk with Dr. Elizabeth, maybe have her listen to his heart. If only … Her hands slowed as her mind speeded up.

  “Remember how you were so concerned when Dr. Elizabeth insisted I have the surgery in Chicago?”

  “Uh-huh.” He twisted slightly so she could reach another spot.

  “Well, now it is my turn. I want you to see Dr. Elizabeth and have her give you a good checkup.” There, she’d said it.

  He sighed and rolled over. “There is nothing wrong with me that a little extra rest now and then won’t take care of. You worry too much.” His voice slipped into that I’m-being-patient-with-you tone that husbands sometimes took on.

  “Then just do it to relieve my mind.”

  He rolled his eyes. “All right. To stop your nagging, I’ll go see Elizabeth one of these days.”

  “Haakan Bjorklund, I do not nag. And if you insist on being contrary, I’ll take all that back rubbing back.” Thank you, Father. It does relieve my mind. “And for that, you get no more cookies.”

  “Try me, wife.” He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “Happy now?”

  She nodded. “Just do it soon. All right?”

  15

  AS GERALD STEPPED OUT from his front door, he took in a deep breath. Although the snow had stopped, a few indecisive clouds still hung overhead. He looked at the train station, still quiet this early in the morning, but a thin line of smoke showed that the stationmaster had started up the stove. He smiled at the thought of Rebecca’s return the next afternoon and the opportunity to tease her about her letter. It reminded him of her as a young teenager and her laugh when something amused her. That memory had carried him through many a dark night during the war, knowing that in Blessing, joy and family would be waiting for him if he could just survive one more night. That and this familiar skyline—his every morning view.

  “It never gets old, does it?” Anner Valders said, joining his son.

  “No.” Gerald pulled his jacket up around his neck as they turned to walk down the street. “Still pretty cold.”

  “Expect it will be for a while. How’s the new switchboard doing?”

  Gerald smiled at his father. He had always admired the way he asked direct questions indirectly. “Not as cramped, and we can take a little more time on the calls without feeling like we’re news hawkers. I like the privacy. No reason for people to linger over their mail pickup now.”

  Mr. Valders nodded. “Good. With Blessing growing and new lines going in, we need to develop a professional atmosphere. Are you going to be too bored?”

  Gerald patted his jacket pocket with his new book, which he hoped to read over a quiet morning. “Not until spring anyway. Or I run out of reading.” He waved good-bye and stomped his boots on the boardwalk before entering the post office to hang his coat on the back wall. Then after he entered the switchboard room, he slid the bar in place, closing off entry. It shouldn’t take long for everyone to realize they could enter from the street now.

  “Thanks,” he said to Toby, who’d taken the night shift. “Ma has breakfast ready.”

  “Good. I’m starving. Are you working two shifts again?”

  “Deborah can’t come in until early afternoon, so I’ll sleep then and come back around ten.”

  “Feeling okay?”

  Gerald stared at his brother. “Don’t you start now. It’s enough with Mother watching for every yawn.”

  Toby laughed. “I meant maybe if you’re not too tired from all these extra shifts we could go to Grafton tomorrow.”

  “Maybe. Anything I need to know?”

  “Some very elderly lady keeps calling and asking for Marjorie. It’s a wrong number, but I can’t seem to make her understand. And she keeps shouting like I’m deaf.”

  A few minutes later the woman called again and Gerald patiently explained the situation.

  “Thank you, young man. The other person kept talking to me like I was deaf.”

  Gerald managed to smother a laugh as he hung up. There were two more random calls, and then the quiet set in. After the heavy snow, that was a good indication all was well.

  In between calls he glanced out the window, enjoying his view of Blessing and the folks who lived there. So far this mo
rning, there had been little movement on the streets, except for Harlan Jeffers, striding from place to place instead of staying in his store. An early morning rooster strutted, and so did Jeffers, unusual behavior for the man who all these months had stayed as invisible as possible. What was he up to? Gerald hadn’t trusted him since the day he arrived in town, and he knew Jeffers knew it. Sometimes Gerald thought that Jeffers deliberately avoided him, as if the man were afraid. He shrugged off the rank smell Jeffers always reminded him of. Memories he’d like to forget.

  “When, O Lord, will the war memories end? Please give me your peace.” He turned from watching Jeffers to a lit-up switchboard.

  In fact, he became so peaceful that when his mother arrived to relieve him for lunch, he’d lost all track of time.

  “Well, that young friend of yours certainly is full of surprises,” Hildegunn said.

  Gerald hesitated before answering. He never liked this tone in her voice, as it bode a level of gossip that bordered on pleasure. The odd thing was he knew she wasn’t mean or cruel like the men he had heard use the same tone during briefing meetings when discussing the enemy. He often wished he knew what had happened to her while she was growing up that had left this mark in her. But maybe whatever it was also became the reason she took in him and Toby as orphans and, in effect, saved their lives.

  “Mother, I wish you didn’t pass on gossip to me,” he finally answered.

  “Not gossip. Mr. Jeffers himself told me.”

  Gerald stiffened immediately. That man was hiding something for sure. He knew his kind: mean and slippery as a snake. What could he possibly have to do with Rebecca?

  “They’re getting married,” she continued. “As soon as Rebecca returns, they’ll set the date.”

  “Mother, you know that all we hear is not necessarily the entire truth.”

  “He said the brothers gave their permission yesterday. So she’ll finally settle down.”

  “Finally? Mother, she’s only nineteen.”